


Umbrellas

by thatclutzsarahh



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatclutzsarahh/pseuds/thatclutzsarahh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The four times Mycroft took Anthea's umbrella and the one time he shares it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Umbrellas

The first time he borrowed an umbrella from her she was twenty six and had only worked for him for a short while. The rain was unexpected, the morning had been such a promise for a lovely day, it was an unsettling trend in weather to turn so dreary. But perhaps that was a mood reflection of his, as if the sky knew he would be set back by a series of events that, much to his dismay, he was unable to control.

Which left the government official stranded in the office at the end of the day. There as no option to run out in the droplets, his Gieves & Hawkes suit was not worth even the slightest chance of getting damp. So by the door he stood, a long gaze in his eyes as the downpour scatters his employees left and right while his car sits, idle, waiting for him. 

And so she appears, a heavy coat clad angel with a plastic pink umbrella extended in her hand. She knows what it looks like, because he can only hide the incredulity for so long before she can see it in his eyes. She would offer him an excuse, but the proud man would rather use a plastic pink umbrella than purchase a new suit for this one’s water damage. 

He offers her a ride home after he’s made it to the car, watching her delicately dart through the rain, coat pulled over her head to join him in the seat, soaking wet, but not quite bothered by it.

The second time he borrowed an umbrella from her was after Sherlock had snapped his, once he’d been found in a halfway house on the outskirts of the darkest slums of London. Half of New Scotland Yard had come to the old building, fearing the worst, but the only thing the younger Holmes could offer in a fight is the loud crack of the Indonesian Birch shaft caving under his hand. The ice man was as upset as he could be, the only sign that this was a catastrophy to him was a sharp flex of his nostrils. 

She was outside by the car, underneath a sleek black umbrella she’d bought in Paris after their last business trip when she had left hers on the plane. The assistant could see his distress the moment he stepped out, and with Sherlock in handcuffs being drug out behind him. She almost doesn’t want to give it up to him, but there was something about the way he pointedly stared at her that told her she had to release the item to him. She doesn’t even hesitate.

It was a short trot to the steps of the building, an extended limb offers to him her umbrella and he considers only momentarily to let her use it as well, but doesn’t, grabbing it from her hands and walking away-it takes only a few seconds to drench her rain once he’s walked away.

In the car this time, she is not so forgiving.

The third time Mycroft borrowed her umbrella was after a date with the great DI. A failed date, to be exact, because they all knew it would never work but he wanted to give it a try anyway. He has been excused as callous and careless, and although the good detective meant well by that, Mycroft had ended the date in the middle of dinner with some words and maybe a threat or two before calling for his assistant. And since they had shared an umbrella upon arriving, he was left, umbrella-less at the doorstep of a five star restaurant with a small “well call me” from the detective as he looked dejected and reject.

She doesn’t even hesitate this time, running up to him and extending him the blue umbrella, despite the fact her dress is white and wool and will be ruined the moment the water drops onto it. He snatches it from her hands almost angrily, storming out from underneath the canopy towards the car she’s come in. She feels a cornerstone of pity for him, watching the aging employer clamor into the car and shut the door on her.

He realizes once inside, that perhaps he should not have taken it from her, but is too annoyed that he’s wasted so much time with something as trivial as a date to even think of it. Peering back out the window he sees her dart, the edges of her dress starting to dampen and then stick, and has the woman approaches the car, Mycroft can see the beginnings of the black she wears beneath it. There is a brief moment of guilt when she yanks open the door, her dress is wool and he notices that it’s ruined because he did not offer her a haven. 

The very next morning he replaces her dress with an identical one, Herve Leger, in the exact size she wears. 

The fourth time Mycroft borrowed Anthea’s umbrella is when he’s mad at her for being, well her, and distracting him from his work. But he can’t exactly be upset with her for this, for it’s not her fault she’s been exactly that. It’s the red Dior she’s worn with black stilettos, unpractical but oh so sensual. He is remarkably unable to find her anything but sensual, overloading his visual senses in the most primal of ways and he hates it. It distracts him so much, the edges of her voice curl around the animalistic cortex of his mind. He is above this trance, this sentimental value of sexual nature. 

But when she smiles at him and asks of him important things, he cannot help but notice she stimulates his intellect as well. He has grown fond of her and realizes that she is his knight in shining armor, and he is her damsel in distress. And so far she does not mind it.

But when they leave together that evening he is too distracted to the lullaby of Russian that spills from her tongue to the PM on the line that he does not notice the umbrella left behind. Which serves a problem when comes time to open an umbrella that’s not there, leaving him by the door on his own. 

Anthea notices his stall, and even though she can tell he is angry with her, she offers it up to him. Which that he snatches it from her, grasping at it like a life line, brushing by her with a huff towards his car. He will not give her a ride home because he is mad at himself, which leaves her to walk home alone. 

Alas this time, the woman is smart enough to carry a spare. 

The first time they share an umbrella is when Mycroft concedes to finding her more than just intelligent. She is the embodiment of intelligence and sophistication, a puzzlement of grace and eloquence that he enjoys in his presence. He has finally given in to the fact that this is the only woman (other than his mother, of course) he will grow fond of, and perhaps even romantically align with. Abolished are the stereotypes he has so heavily clung to, Anthea does not need him, and she does not cling to him. She is so harsh of a woman that he cannot find fault in her, only fault in him. And his resigned to this fact. 

Anthea, however, does not think more of her employer than she does of her mother or her father. She is endeared to him because she has spent so much time with him. In her mind they are already married. She knows his morning and his evening, knows every facial tick he releases to her, every time he’s snuck a biscuit and convinces everyone else he hasn’t. There is nothing she has not intimately memorized of him or how he acts that cannot be unseen by her. He has become an important fixation in her life she cannot hide.

So when he leaves his umbrella, purposefully this time, it’s because he intends to share with her. He meets her at the door and she is already extending the black and red umbrella to him when he stops her.

"Share it with me, dear."


End file.
